


Elastic Heart

by Fuzzball457



Series: Any Day Now [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Kidnapping, M/M, Recovery, References to Noncon/rape, eventual poly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzball457/pseuds/Fuzzball457
Summary: Sometimes wanting and needing are not the same thing. Bringing John home is just the beginning.Sequel to I Have Died Everyday Waiting For You





	Elastic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the wait! It will probably be another two months before the next one is up because I'm drowning in work. Thank you for sticking with me :D

“Can Alex stay with me?” are the first words out of John’s mouth after Sergeant Boscoe explains the interview procedure.

Her lips twitch down the slightest bit at the corner, but she acquiesces. “As long as you don’t interfere or interrupt in any way. And if Mr. Laurens or I request you leave for any reason, you’ll need to do so immediately. Is this clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods, making the thick black ponytail at the back of her head bob. Alex wonders if they sent her because she’s good at this or because she’s the least threatening person they had available. Don’t want to scare their poor traumatized witness after all.

Henry and Martha left earlier that morning following a cordial discussion with John, as if his kidnapping and escape were as interesting as the weather or latest recycling regulations. The brief exchange was draining though and Alex was more than happy to watch crappy TV side-by-side for the rest of the morning. It was just after lunch that the tall Sergeant had stopped by, polite by efficient in her manner.

“Is it alright if I record this?” she asks, even though Alex doubts John can say no. He agrees regardless and she sets it on the small table at the end of the bed before settling herself in the corner armchair. John is sitting cross-legged half way down the bed, with Alex seated similarly behind him. From here, Alex has the unfortunate luck to see the wide array of bruises blossoming along the back of John’s neck. They’re the sort of marks that only come from long and varied injuries, probably strangulation, maybe with a ligature. Facts Alex wishes he didn’t know. Visages he can’t ignore.

He wants to reach out and rub along the knobby protrusions of John’s spine, just visible through the crack along the back of the hospital gown (though Alex is grateful they had the decency to give John boxers because the last thing he needs to worry about is modesty).

“A sketch artist will be by later today, but any physical detail you remember, I want you tell me. Okay?” At his nod, she continues. “Alright. Let’s begin with the night you were taken.”

An unassuming Tuesday. An early library study session for Alex. A late morning start for John. The barely there eyes blinking at him as he kissed John before heading out the door. The mumbled ‘love you’ from John as Alex tried to close the door quietly behind him.

It was a sunny day, but a chilled breeze nipped at his exposed neck and rustled his hair from its messy ponytail. Class was good. He and John both only had two classes that summer, John from switching majors late in the game and Alex from his accelerated master’s track, so their afternoons were open more often than not.

Except, after class Alex had come home and…

“He caught me after class.”

…John had never come home.

Alex pulls himself from his own memories, vivid as the day they’d happened, and forces himself to focus on the even timbre of John’s voice. This isn’t about him, even as each word tugs at his own recollections and jolts of that all-consuming fear slip into his mind.

“I was on my bike, over on South Street, and he just stepped out in front of me. He was getting out of the back of a van I think.”

“What did the van look like?”

“White. Unmarked. A panel van, square. Oldish.” Alex can tell John’s eyes are closed from his cadence. He talks like he does when he’s describing an idea for a piece of art, slowly adding each detail until it seems complete. “He stepped out and I sort of ran into him. We both fell over and I was trying to get us and the bike untangled and all the sudden he shoved me backwards and I fell in the van. He was on me real quick.” John’s rushing words come to a halt as he takes a shaky breath.

“Do you-?”

“No,” John says before she finishes asking. Eyes still closed, he continues, “He injected me with something. I don’t know what, but I was out pretty quick.”

Alex moves to reach out and rub soothing circles on John’s back, but Boscoe catches the movement, giving him a silent _look_ until he drops his hand. Right. No interfering. He can’t distract John now.

“Where did he take you?”

“A house. A regular one, I think. It looked normal enough on the inside. I woke up in the basement.”

“If you were in the basement, how did you see the rest of the house? Couldn’t it have been a warehouse or a shop?” she fires off.

John blinks. Alex glares at her. It’s fine for her to drag John out of his trance, but not for him to provide a little comfort? Alex shifts forward while he has a chance, putting himself as close as possible without actually touching John.

“Uh, I…I saw it later?” He sounds unsure and Alex can tell he’s thrown by Boscoe’s sudden and acerbic questioning.

“You woke up in the basement the first day, but you later saw the rest of the house?”

“Some of it, yeah.” He shrugs, eyes slipping down uncertainly.

“Thank you for clarifying,” she says coolly. “Please continue.”

“Um…what do you want to know?” Her eyes flick up from where they’ve centered on her notepad, pencil poised at hand.

“Did he say why he took you specifically? Convenience or did you get the impression he was following you previously?”

“I don’t know about me,” John says, shrugging again, “but the others he just found.”

“Others?” she asks sharply. Alex’s own eyes have widened in surprise and he sits up straighter, leaning just the slightest bit closer as if he’ll hear the words faster that way.

“Yeah. He would go…he called it hunting. He’d go out and look for someone, maybe follow them for a few hours until an opportunity presented itself.”

“How many others were there?”

“Only one at a time, but three in total. There was another one before me, I think.”

She stares at John, unspeaking, and it takes Alex a moment to figure out what she’s waiting to hear, probably hoping not to have to ask. But John’s gaze is fixed firmly on the bedspread and her probing silence flies over his head.

Finally, she asks, “Are any of them still alive?”

John’s fingers, scrunching and unscrunching the sheet, still. “No.”

Alex can only stare at the bow of his neck as the sound denial hangs in the air. He looks small. Defeated. There’s so much more to the story than that, Alex can tell. But he can also see the first hints of distress John’s shown. These less fortunate others, they plague John’s thoughts, probably his conscious. Alex himself wishes he knew of these people, knew of their families, so that they might have…connected? It sounds weak and more than a little pointless. Yet, maybe it might have helped to know he wasn’t the only one suffering? That John wasn’t always alone. It all sounds so useless, but it couldn’t possibly have made it worse, could it? To have known?

“Okay,” Boscoe says softly, offering the first display of sympathy Alex has seen yet. “Let’s get back to you. What happened day-to-day? Was there a routine?”

“Yes. He was gone for most of the day.”

“Like he had a job?”

“Yes. Probably. A regular eight to five. Most days, when he got home, he’d bring me upstairs. Ask me to cook dinner, sometimes clean something. Some days he’d come home angry and he’d…rough me up a little.”

Again, Boscoe waits, but John’s stubborn silence persists.

Alex can tell she doesn’t want to ask it any more than Alex wants to hear the answer, but eventually, with a grim determination on her face, she questions, “Is that everything he would do to you? Rough you up, as you say?”

Keeping his face down, John looks up through his lashes to meet her gaze. His own is steely in a way Alex has never seen. He looks cornered, like the quiet before the storm. “No.”

“What else would he do?”

Alex wants to slam his hands over his ears, to flee the room, to put a hand on John’s mouth. To do anything not to have to hear what he’s about to say. It’s Alex’s worst fears, his wildest nightmares come to realization.

Without blinking, John stares her down as he offers flatly, “Sometimes he’d rape me. Other times he’d have me blow him.”

John’s nostrils are flaring so much he seems ready to shoot off into the ceiling at any moment. The heart monitor isn’t attached any more, but Alex would bet his entire college savings that John’s heart is flying off the handle, even as he maintains a collected façade. Every line on his body is sharp and tense, like a string pulled just shy of its breaking point.

Alex lets his own eyes close even as John remains determined to stare Boscoe into the floor. He immediately wonders what it was like. How much it hurt. What was said. Did John fight back? Did he comply? Was he already hurt? Or, like now, a steely composure to betray nothing? Alex doesn’t want to know, though. He doesn’t want the vague, shadowy compositions in his mind to take solid shape. His stomach already churns and the cold hand clamped on the back of his neck is already too much.

“Okay,” she says evenly, meeting John’s stare with a composed one of her own. Shock has no value to her. “What about your neck?”

“Sometimes he’d choke me.”

“When he raped you?” John blinks, letting his eyes slip away from hers in the brief second they’re closed.

His voice drops back to flatness as he continues, “Yeah. Or if I did something wrong, something he didn’t like. Sometimes he’d use a belt or a rope. Sometimes his hands.” His distress and stubbornness are gone, replaced with an exhaustion, like every word requires a massive effort to shape and deliver.

“Alright,” Boscoe says, sensing the same loss of steam Alex has, “let’s talk about the other men for a moment.”

“Boys,” John corrects, breathless. “They were just…I was the oldest. They were kids.”

Oh God. The room feels brutally small, as if it can’t hold enough air for three people to breathe properly. He feels shaky and out of control and he wants to punch the wall, punch himself, punch Sergeant-fucking-Boscoe until this all goes away. Until John isn’t this strange, deflated version of himself. Until there’s no pedophilic, torturous, rapist _monsters_ out there to touch John or anyone ever again.

“Do you know their names?”

John’s inhale is shaky enough to draw Alex out of his tunnel. John’s head is in his hands and his back rises and falls unevenly. He doesn’t seem to be crying, but it feels like the tiniest of victories in the face of such overwhelming horror.

This time Boscoe doesn’t probe further, seemingly sensing the uselessness of such a gesture. Alex is almost grateful for the imposed distance between him and John because he feels so insignificant, he’s not sure he’d be capable of movement even if he tried. Anything and everything would feel inadequate.

Finally, John whispers, “Alex.” At first, Alex thinks that’s the name of one of the boys, but eventually he connects the sounds with himself and finds both John and Boscoe staring at him.

“Yes?” He’s not sure if this counts as interfering, but Boscoe doesn’t stop him and it’s clearly John’s request, not his. He leans forward, eager for direction, wanting desperately to help if only someone would tell him how.

“Can you…” John’s eyes flick down yet again, seemingly ashamed, and Alex wants to rush to him, to take him in his arms and kiss him until he believes that there’s nothing he could ever ask Alex to do that he wouldn’t do in a heartbeat.

“Anything,” he promises before John finishes, but the painful way John’s eyes immediately close tell him that was the wrong thing to say. Great.

John’s head hangs, directing his request to the bedspread. Eyes still closed and with a voice so tiny Alex has to strain to hear it, John asks, “Would you mind leaving?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh?

“Leave-? Yeah…yeah, of course,” he stutters out, nearly falling off the bed as his arms push him faster than his feet unfold. “If that’s what you want, sure. I’ll…I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Boscoe tracks his shaky movements across the room until he’s out the door, but John doesn’t look up once.

The hallways is bustling with activity, snippets of conversation and squeaks of quickly walking shoes floating around him, but it feels distant. He feels cold and vaguely sick, like he’s too hollow. There’s nothing in him, no food, no warmth, maybe not even a heartbeat.

He feels stilted. Inhuman. Someone could come along and break him right in two if they wanted. They could crush his paper bones beneath their feet if they wanted.

It’s not John’s fault, he tells himself, and it’s not his either. It’s just what the situation called for. That’s fine. It’s about time and patience. Not pushing too much.

There’s nothing wrong, he tells himself, as quiet little tears drip off his chin.

But…what did he do wrong? He didn’t say anything, didn’t disrupt in anyway, which is a damn miracle for someone like Alex, so why…? It could only be because John didn’t want him to hear something, but what could it possibly be? Not five minutes ago John had told them about being raped, voice blunt and aggressive, daring them to listen, to care.

For the first time, instead of wondering how to help, he wonders if John will want his help. If he’ll always be asked to leave when the going gets tough. How can he help if John doesn’t want him around? Yet how can he force his presence on someone who’s known nothing but force and helplessness for months?

It doesn’t register that he’s moving until he has his cellphone in his hand, thumb waiting for instructions on what buttons to push. He’s learned by now that there’s a small cellphone area just down the hall, so he slips in. There’s no one in the little reception area, but Alex feels like a ghost anyway, unreal and unseen.

“ _Bonjour, mon ami,”_ Lafayette greets, voice warm and pleasant like a soft blanket on a cold night.

His tongue is too thick in his mouth and he feels like a lump of clay trying to deliver a lecture on quantum mechanics. The effort to even say, “Laf,” is herculean and the delivery is uncoordinated at best.

“Oh, Alex, _mon chou,_ what’s wrong?” he asks immediately. He can picture the exact way Lafayette is sitting up, pressing the phone tighter like he can shove himself right through if he tries.

“The police person came. To…to take his statement.” Has Alex always been so small? His voice so little?

“I see,” he says and somehow it doesn’t sound condescending. Alex has perfect confidence that Lafayette does see, that he does understand all the implications. “That must have been hard.”

“It-it was. But,” his voice cracks, likely betraying his tears, “he asked me to leave, Laf.”

He can almost hear Lafayette’s surprise. “Oh.”

“I didn’t…didn’t do anything…you know, wrong.” It’s a silly thing to say. John has the right to ask him to leave whether Alex did something wrong or not. 

Lafayette clucks sympathetically. “No, _mon ami,_ of course not. I’m sure your John is just overwhelmed right now. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” He wishes Lafayette, in all his infinite wisdom, was here right now, to take Alex in his arms and whisper his assurances along the chilled planes of Alex’s skin. To take Alex’s jittery fingers in his own and soothe away their anxiety.

But he’s alone in a pale peach sitting area, making awkward eye contact with a weirdly realistic duck painting.

“I’m not…I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says for what feels like the thousandth time in the last seventy-two hours. He shoves a hand in his mouth so Lafayette can’t hear the little sob that tries to sneak out.

God, he’s so tired of crying.

It’s not that he thought everything would be perfect if John returned.

But he thought it’d be happier at least. Easier even. Instead, this feels eerily reminiscent of when John first went missing and he was trapped in some liminality of despair and hope. Months of tired misery seemed to blur by, each day a continuing trudge of the last, but here, now, in this chilly little room, Alex can feel each minute crawling by. Each word from John’s mouth didn’t pour out, it trickled one painful syllable at a time.

“What they did to him, Laf…it was _awful._ It was-” There are no words for what is was, only shallow, pained breaths. Only the instinctual sense of _wrongness_. And Alex is left squirming under the weight of such burdensome knowledge. Anger is there, surging onto his tongue with it’s acidic aftertaste and chest-squeezing restlessness, but it weans cyclically as he’s crushed under the inability to deal with what’s right in front of him, let alone what monstrosities are out there.

He just wants John to be healthy and happy. To feel safe and loved.

When did that become too much to ask for?

It takes him a moment to identify the sound on the other end of the line.

“Laf?”

“ _Ouí,”_ he replies instantly, but Alex recognizes the sound of crying, even as unfamiliar as the sound is from Lafayette. It’s not sobbing or weeping and Alex suspects if he was there looking at Lafayette, he’d find his eyes to be calm, a sad smile on his lips, and only a tear or two on his face. Even in anguish, Lafayette is lovely and composed. “It’s…a lot. I wish very much that you and John…that this hadn’t happened. I wish I could make everything better.”

“You do,” he says immediately. “I couldn’t do this without you, Laf. If I had to go home to an empty apartment, a cold bed, after all of this? I couldn’t. I need you. I love you.”

“Of course, of course. I didn’t…this isn’t about me, _mon ami._ My emotions got the best of me,” he apologizes. His voice is surer. Alex knows the feeling. How fast your own emotions become insignificant in the face of your loved ones’ pain.

“It’s okay to need support too. Between the three of us, there’s a lot of…messiness.” He pauses for a moment, turning over a thought that’s been bothering him. It had fallen to the wayside in the face of everything, but it niggles once more at his mind now. “Earlier you said, I was here for John and you were here for me. But that’s not…it’s not…” Words don’t usually fail him, but they feel incapable of conveying the stormy mess of love and fear in his chest. “It’s not a one-way. We support each other. And John,” he feels it build in his chest: the love that once burned so hot it brought him to his knees some days, “he’s in a bad place right now. But he’s the most caring, compassionate person. He’s sweet in ways you’ll never expect and he’d do anything for the people he loves. Once he’s feeling better…he’ll be there for us too.”

“I can’t wait, _mon chou_.” Alex knows he’s smiling.

Charming bastard.

-

John won’t meet his eyes when Alex slides back into the room. He’s brought sandwiches for both of them, mostly as a peace offering, but also because he knows they both get extra snippy when they’re hungry.

John stares determinedly at the cooking show on the television like he’ll be asked to cook for Emril himself any second now.

Right. If that’s how it’s going to be, then that’s how it’s going to be.

He tries to shove the little rise of annoyance in his chest down because _this isn’t anyone’s fault._

Alex suspects it’ll become his new mantra. Things are what they are and there isn’t always someone to blame.

“I brought you a BLT,” he says casually, settling into the chair next to John’s bed. He gets situated slowly, like he hasn’t a care in the world, and fixates on the TV. “Those are some good looking halibuts. Have you ever seen a halibut that good looking?” He doesn’t need John’s side-eye glance to know he sounds like a lunatic.

There was a time when he’d get right up in John’s face and demand to know if he was mad. He’d ask over and over again until John would give in, snarling and shoving. And somewhere along the line it would turn into aggressive making-out, every kiss a demand for dominance. It’s how they solved most problems, letting it slide to the wayside in favor of good-old fashioned fucking.

It felt good then. It felt healthy even. It was a way to end fights and no one ever got really hurt. They never went to bed angry.

It’s only through months of gentle encouragement from Lafayette that Alex has realized the vital step they always missed. Make-up sex is great and all, but it doesn’t help a lot if they never actually _talk_ about what the fight was about in the first place. Issues are bound to repeat themselves if they go forever unaddressed.

He still wants to ask if John’s mad, but it feels childish to voice the words so directly. At least without a suggestive smirk and an implicit challenge, that is. But Lafayette _has_ taught him a thing or two and one thing that’s managed to penetrate his hot-headed stubbornness is that it’s never better to leave things unspoken.

“John-”

“I’m sorry,” John says instead, letting out a deep exhale and bringing his gaze down to where his fingers are twisting and knotting the sheet.

“ _You’re sorry?”_ Alex repeats dumbly, thrown entirely. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I completely understand,” he rushes to add, but John only scowls at him. Alex mentally grabs for words, unsure what he’s said and what he needs to say.

“No, Alex. You don’t understand. Okay? I need you to get that. It’s not your fault, you weren’t there. But I need you to realize that some things just aren’t going to make sense to you.”

“Then explain it to me,” he begins immediately because if John would just talk to him, this would be so much easier and why can’t he see that?

“No. Alex, you’re not listening. You’re brilliant and I love you, but you cannot understand this. Some really messed up shit happened and I think someday I’ll be ready to tell you, but I can’t right now. God, Alex, there were moments…there were moments where I thought I’d rather die than have you, or anyone, see what was happening in that house. Things he did to me and things he made me do and…It makes me sick to think about it. I’m not sure I could get the words past my lips even if I tried. So I need you to just…accept that you won’t understand. I don’t expect you to. I won’t let you.”

“So what you’re saying,” Alex offers, making eye contact as soon as John’s downturned eyes flit up, “is that it’s not me, it’s you?”

There it is. That smile he’s waited nearly a year for.

“Jesus, Alex, I’ve missed you so fucking much.” John drags Alex closer by his shirt and kisses him square on the lips. “Fuck,” he murmurs, breath hot against Alex’s mouth.

John shifts back, suddenly all business again, and Alex tries to savor the lingering warmth on his lips. He knows he can’t push right now, but man, oh, man.

It felt like stolen moments behind library shelves.

It felt like their first apartment and slowly building a space just for them.

It felt like late night Denny’s runs and milkshakes in the wee hours of the mornings.

It felt like always having someone to ask how your day was, no matter how shitty theirs was.

It felt like coming home after being gone for a very, very long time.

He savors it, keeping his eyes closed for an extra beat so he can live in the memories for a second longer before he has to face reality.

“I have something else to ask you.”

Forcing his eyes open, Alex watches him curiously, caught off guard by the serious tone in John’s voice. It’s almost…hesitant and Alex can’t remember the last time John was ever unsure of what ot say or how Alex would react.

John continues, eyes making brief, occasional contact only to skitter away like a startled chipmunk, “And it’s okay if you say no.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. Uncertainty is building in his chest and he reminds himself now is not the time for anxiety. No matter how blindsided he is, he can’t let it show because this isn’t about him.

“Well…the doctor said that…because everything is looking good…well, that I could probably go home tomorrow.”

“John, that’s great!” He can’t fathom why John still looks so uncertain, but this is frankly the best thing Alex has heard all day. To have John back, in their space together…maybe things will finally begin to go back to normal, to heal.

“Yeah,” John agrees halfheartedly. A chill runs along his back, pricking up his arm hair. What…? “It’s just that…” John suddenly lets out a frustrated growl and smacks a fist into the soft bedding. Alex surges forward immediately, but stops himself just shy of grabbing ahold of John. He makes a mental note to discuss barriers and limits later because he wants to help as much as he can without overstepping and this uncertainty thing is turning into a real bitch barely one day in. “I don’t even know how to ask this, but can I stay with you? I don’t have anywhere else. I mean, I’m not moving back home.” It comes out in one aggravated rush, each word chasing down the last, and it takes Alex a stupidly long time to even figure out what he’s asked.

“Stay with me?”

“If it’s an imposition-”

“Are you shitting me right now? Fucking obviously you’ll stay with me.” John blinks, startled by the vehemence of Alex’s retort.

But seriously. What the fuck. How could John think for even one second…? “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I…I missed you, I’ve waited all these months for exactly this and you’re not sure if I’ll kick you out on the streets or not?” His hurt shines through, surprising even him, but by the time he’s voiced it, it settles deeper in his chest. It’s not just outrageous, it’s profoundly insulting to the depth of their relationship, their love, their history. He doesn’t know how to say it any other way. He doesn’t know how to drive the knowledge any deeper into John’s skull that _Alex loves him_.

“No, of course. It’s not that,” John says quietly, still sounding uncertain. “I know you said you didn’t have a boyfriend, but I wasn’t sure if you still had our old place. Or if you even have the space to suddenly add a person. Even logistically…it’s going to be a while before I can contribute any money to anything.”

“Jesus,” he snaps, then immediately feels guilty for letting so much exasperation show. “We’ll figure it out. Isn’t that good enough? I still have our place. I’ve managed the rent this long by myself, I’m not worried, okay? Seriously. You’ve been back for, what? Two days? Three? Take some time to relax, alright? I’ll handle everything.”

John stares at him so long Alex begins to worry, regret at his outburst spilling back onto his tongue like a returning tide. But how can John have so much doubt in Alex? Why can’t he just trust that Alex will handle all that little logistic crap? It’s frustrating when every conversation is a chess game and he hasn’t even learned the rules yet. It’s like talking to a stranger, except he very, very dearly wants to be as close as possible to them.

“Okay.” John’s voice is still quiet, but it’s less unsure.

“Good, the matter’s settled then. Now, dig in,” he demands, sliding one of the sandwiches onto John’s lap. The matter, John’s down turned eyes inform him, is most certainly not settled, but Alex can’t figure out for the life of him what the big hold up is.

It’s not the time to push the matter further though. Alex suspects this won’t be the last time he comes to that conclusion.

There’s another matter at hand that desperately needs to be addressed, a tiny stumbling block in his reassurances that he intentionally left out. Alex should tell John now, but the air between them is barely hovering on this side of composed, so he doesn’t want to go ruffling any feathers now. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He tries to ignore the stickiness that suddenly overcomes his mouth when he thinks about the half-empty apartment.

Half-empty because Alex doesn’t live there anymore. Because he lives with his boyfriend.

Eh, he thinks as he shoves a ginormous bite into his mouth, he’ll wait until the right moment presents itself.

 -

The right moment does not present itself.

Alex is nearly out of his mind with stress as John calmly listens to the discharging doctor’s instructions the following afternoon. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans Alex had brought for him this morning and if John’s aware of the mustiness of the items that haven’t left a bureau in nearly a year, he doesn’t comment. Alex should’ve had the forethought to wash them, but he didn’t.

It’s not his first stupid mistake and he doubts it’ll be his last, but he still kicks himself when he hands the garments over, aware that they smell oddly.

They’re going to go home soon. They’ll probably be there in an hour or two and John is still under the impression Alex has been living there by himself this entire time. He’d stopped at the grocery store this morning to provide them with at least a few basics and then he’d tidied the last of his items, mostly old textbooks, things that he’d rummaged through before deciding them unnecessary to bring to Lafayette’s.

A little tidying, however, does not hide the fact that no one has actually resided in the house for nearly three months.

He hovers, hands dancing uselessly through the air, as John slowly extracts himself from the back of the cab. John moves stiffly, but under his own steam. Alex shoves a few bills at the driver through the open passenger window and ensures he has all of John’s belongings, stowed neatly in a clear, hospital-issued bag.

Alex’s mind is twenty steps ahead of them, agonizing over the six steps up to the front door (who ever thought adding a wheelchair ramp around the side of the building counted as accessible clearly never had accessibility issues), while simultaneously mapping out the emptiness awaiting them that he’s yet to explain.

So rushed is his mind it takes him a moment to notice John’s not moving. He’s standing a pace behind Alex, staring up at the inconspicuous brick building before them. It’s not much to look at, especially being squished between two nearly identical buildings. But it’s home.

Or it was home rather. Once upon a time.

It hasn’t been that for Alex for a long while and even longer still for John.

_Did you think you’d never see it again?_

Undoubtedly, he answers himself, because Alex never thought he’d see John again and Alex can’t have been the only one who had given up.

Right?

“John?” he questions softly instead.

Still looking up, maybe even trying to find their one westward facing window among the rows, John cocks his head slightly.

“It’s not…different.” John sighs and lets his gaze deflate until it rests on a spot on the sidewalk. “I dunno. I thought it’d feel different? But it’s just like: oh, yeah, here it is. Same as always.”

“Do _you_ feel different?” Alex asks. John glances at him but doesn’t answer, instead beginning slow steps forward. It’s more of a shuffle than any semblance of a proper gait, but Alex will take it.

Now that most of the bloating from the IV fluids has disappeared, John looks old and worn. Frankly, he looks sick, like he’s been off battling cancer this whole time. He’ll get his appetite back slowly, they’d been told, but they shouldn’t be expecting John to wake up one day soon suddenly looking 100%. There’s pamphlets upon pamphlets on proper diets shoved in John’s little bag, not to mention several sheets of hand written notes from the hospital dietician, all of which Alex plans on memorizing over the next few nights. For now though, he’s trying to map John’s new body as it is. He can’t be shocked every time he looks over and finds bone where there had once been muscle tone.

And yet Alex is frozen, watching as John delicately begins to climb up the steps, bony hand clenched on the railing, and all he can think is that this person before him? He doesn’t look like a survivor.

It’s a vicious, vicious thought, one that betrays every moment of horror John had to endure to get here, and yet…there it is.

John’s here and he’s alive and he’s back, but they have so, so far to go.

“Alex?”

John’s looking at him, probably because Alex is a frozen moron, and he’s yanked back to reality. This isn’t a time to stop and ponder. He needs to go forward too and climb these stupid steps and be a person.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s…a lot to take in.” He pulls on a smile to try and pass the moment off as a joke, just silly old Alex always lost in his head.

“Tell me about it,” John says, one of those indulgent smiles on his face. It pulls at his face in a way that erases some of the newfound sharpness and alludes to the carefree nature that once overshadowed every expression. Alex feels his own mirroring smile settled into something a little more genuine.

John comments offhandedly about the changes in the building as they make their way to the elevator and through the halls. A new stain here, a patch up paint job there. He seems content enough to keep a monologue going as Alex frets nervously half a step behind him.

What should he say? How should he say it?

The act of opening his mouth, once a task as natural as breathing, now feels herculean. He wants to shrink in on himself, to disappear and take up no space at all. He can’t force the words out that will disrupt these calm waters they’re bobbing along in.

Even the familiar numbers seem to glare at him as they arrive at the door at the end of the hall. The knowing curves of 308 glint maliciously down at him and the carpet beneath him fails to swallow him whole in response to his dripping shame.

“Alex? The key?”

“The what?” he repeats shallowly, realizing halfway through his sentence why John is staring at him expectantly. “Right, yeah. Look, John, before we go in, can I just-”

“Alex,” John says fondly, “I’ve really missed your voice, but right now I really just want to take a shower and settle on the couch. Then we can talk, I promise.”

“Sure, yeah, it’s just that-”

“Seriously, please. I just need twenty minutes to become a human.”

Swallowing reflexively, Alex digs out the key without further protest. His hands begin unlocking the door even as his minds screams at him to stop, to say something. But once more he finds himself incapable of parting the silence with his voice.

“You don’t know how much I’ve thought about this moment, about walking through this door,” John offers over his shoulder as he slides past Alex and flips on the switches. He hovers in the doorway for just a minute and Alex expects him to whirl around any second to scream about Alex’s deception. Instead he takes several deep breaths and lets one finger reach out to trail over the familiar tan paint.

“ _I’m home_ ,” he whispers and Alex wants to drop to his feet and weep because what has he done? What traitorous scum is he?

“John-” he begins, nearly in tears, but John moves forward and takes in the unusually neat kitchen and the clutter-free little table that usually served as their drop zone for the day’s buildup of crap.

“I’m impressed. Who knew you could be so clean when left to your own devices?” Passing the kitchen entryway, John stops as he takes in the living room. Even from behind, Alex can see the gears turning, the little pinch that will be appearing between his eyebrows as he tries to figure out the hotel-level barrenness. “Where…where is all your stuff?”

“I tried to tell you,” he offers weakly. John turns, somehow looking even smaller in his uncertainty.

“Tried to tell me what?”

“Uh, that I…well,” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I don’t live here anymore?”

Something akin to bewildered panic crosses John’s face and he begins to rush to the front door like Alex will throw him out any second.

“I didn’t mean you needed to leave,” Alex calls, bewildered himself as he follows after John.

John turns sharply, eyes darting around nervously before boring into Alex as though he’s not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“What the actual fuck, Alex? Whose apartment is this? _Who lives here?_ ” he demands, going to open the door.

_Ooooh._

“No, no, no,” Alex reassures, moving to block John’s exit. “It’s still my apartment.”

John blinks. “So, to clarify.” He speaks slowly, like Alex is being particularly difficult. “You didn’t, like, bring me into a random person’s apartment for a nostalgia trip to keep my delicate little mind happy?”

“What? No. What?” Alex is so thrown by John’s momentary panic that he almost forgets why he was stressed out before.

(To be fair, if Alex had sold the apartment and John had refused to live anywhere else he would not be above breaking some kneecaps to get it back.)

John dips into the kitchen and takes a seat at one of the stupidly yellow plastic chairs. Alex hovers in the doorway as if he can keep all of their shit contained in this one room.

“You said you didn’t live here?”

“Yeah,” Alex admits. He can feel John’s emotions, taught and ready to break if Alex pokes hard enough. Honesty is a rough punch, but there’s only forward to go. “I…I live with someone else most of the time. But I couldn’t bring myself to sell the place.”

“You have two apartments? Even with a roommate to split rent, that’s…Alex, that’s foolish.” He looks understanding, pitying even. Alex could take the out, it’s almost too tantalizing to refuse, but somewhere down the line things would unravel.

“He’s not really a roommate per se. He doesn’t charge me rent because he’s, like, filthy rich.”

“Who?” John asks. He’s still not angry, Alex can only see confusion in the way his eyes beg for something resembling sense.

Alex stares right at John as he lets the name roll off his tongue gently. “Lafayette.” It unfurls before them, polluting their sacred air, but John is still giving Alex the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t know the name, he doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t flinch as Alex bares his sins in one breath. Alex closes his eyes for just a second, bracing himself for the plunge, before he flings himself over the edge. There’s a wariness in John’s gaze as Alex meets it once more. “He’s my boyfriend, John.”

This time John does flinch.

The silence settles thick on Alex’s shoulders, a heavier burden than any verbal lashings John could dole out. Alex forces himself to hold John’s still gaze even as the instinct to turn and hide nearly overwhelms his feet.

“You have…what?” His face is blank as if Alex was instead discussing annual peach sales.

Swallowing, Alex forces himself to answer instead of pretending John had heard ludicrously wrong. “A…a boyfriend. I mean, sort of. We don’t, like…it’s not labeled, but we do, you know, stuff. Together.” It’s perhaps the least coherent sentence he’s ever strung together, but it felt nothing short of cruel to paint any clearer a picture of their romantic and sexual lives together.

John continues to stare at him for a moment, like he can’t quite riddle out what he’s staring at. But then, as expected, it comes: the disappointment and the hurt. The betrayal that Alex has knowingly caused.

“Alex,” he sighs, letting his head drop into his hands. He cuts a dejected shape in the warm light of their kitchen. Alex finds himself staring at his own hands as they fidget, picking painfully at his nails and the surrounding skin. It’s an old habit, one he really thought he’d kicked a few years ago.

He can’t recall a time he’s felt so small and so ashamed. His mom hadn’t lived long enough to ever look at him with disappointment and he’d shied away from any potential parental figures for this exact reason. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he put every fiber of his soul into being his absolute best, Alexander Hamilton always ended up fucking something up. It was as inevitable as the coming of the chilly winter winds as the last leaves turned brown.

It was intolerable, this feeling, this gaping chasm in his chest. With each passing second of him standing here, letting John’s quiet distress bombard him, worse than any physical blow, the desire to run and disappear grows.

When he can’t stand it for one more single second, he says, “John…I’m so, so sorry. I…I really thought you weren’t coming back. And I was…weak.”

That’s all there is to it. Alex is weak. He gave up on the most important person in his life. He let their relationship wither and die behind him as he strode willingly towards the next flashy thing.

“No, Alex. Jesus.” John meets his eyes for just a second, and there’s a watery reflectiveness in his gaze that speaks of tears being held back by willpower alone, but he looks off to a corner of the kitchen before Alex can get a solid read on his expression. He sounds frustrated, but in a quiet way that isn’t typical of the once hot-headed man. It’s a weary frustration, like he can’t go through this even once more. 

Somewhere along the way, Alex missed something.

“I don’t care that you have a boyfriend. A whatever he is. I’m not…I’m not stupid.” John runs a hand upwards along the back of his neck before fisting his hand in his curls and tugging lightly. It looks painful, but Alex says nothing.

“I know,” Alex offers swiftly, wanting it said before John can move on and sweep another casual self-deprecation under the rug.

“I told you at the hospital, Alex. _I literally told you_. I already considered you may have found someone else. It hurts, yeah, I won’t deny that, but…it’s probably for the best. At least one of us was happy these past few months.”

“It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows,” he interrupts. Because Alex refuses to allow any sort of narrative to build in John’s mind wherein he dropped John like yesterday’s news and moved on without a backward glance. He has the insane desire to call Lafayette up and force him to testify to how fucking difficult Alex was.

“Don’t,” John almost growls at him, cutting his gaze back sharply to give Alex a brief glare. “Don’t make this about you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I don’t want to have a conversation about that. I’m sorry to be an asshole, I am, but I can’t right now. I can’t take on your pain right now. I can’t take one single thing more. I just can’t. Okay? I need to think about me and I need to keep things simple.” He pauses and looks up at Alex. It takes him a second to realize John is actually waiting for confirmation.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing.”

“I’m s-” Alex cuts himself off as John’s eyes flick threateningly towards him. Oh, right. Jeez.

“The only thing I have asked from you, Alex, is honesty. Every day for the past eleven months I’ve had to double and triple check every word I said, every move I made. I had to be suspicious of everyone and I had to stop and analyze every word I heard.” John leans back in the chair, letting his eyes fall close as his face turns up to the ceiling. The tips of his curls just barely grace the table top. “I’m so tired, Alex. So tired. And I need things to be simple. I need you to be frank with me. What’s going on with you, what happened while I was gone…just tell me. Because I don’t have the energy for this song and dance, for you doing shit to protect my fragile mind or whatever.”

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” Alex counters immediately, but John shuts him down. Dragging himself back to a sitting position, John gives him one of those looks that says ‘for the love of God, Alex, shut up’. It’s a look he’s seen many times over the years, though never with such a level of seriousness.

John, he realizes, is much closer to the end of his tether than he’d first seemed.

“I don’t care. You lied. I gave you multiple openings. I asked you flat out if you were dating someone and you fucking lied to my face.” 

“I know and I’m sorry-”

“Alex, stop. Seriously. I know you’re sorry. I do. And I’m sure you mean it, but…” He shrugs and glances around the kitchen like maybe the solution is sitting behind the flour jar gathering dust. Alex resists the urge to interrupt and confirm that yes, God, yes, he means it. “What do you want from me, Alex? Huh? What do you want me to do? Yell and cry? Sprinkle the fairy dust of forgiveness on you? What?”

“I don’t know.” His voice is miniscule, like an answer offered by a student caught sleeping.

Being with Lafayette is understandable. No one blames him. No one would. No one expected him to wait forever, even as he himself was willing to operate on such a belief until it killed him. Somewhere inside of himself, Alex knows all of this. Maybe it’s why he focused so strongly on it, convincing even himself that this betrayal was what John was upset about. Lying, though. Lying was a procrastination so he could live in a happy little world where he got to both have John back and keep Lafayette. Lying was a selfish mistake, he knows it. Even if he didn’t, the black hole of guilt slowly eating its way through his insides would tell him so.

Lying was a way to avoid confronting the big problems. But John is right. This can’t be about Alex and Alex’s wants right now. He needs to be transparent instead of trying to keep two totally separate lives going. The past must be reconciled to move to the future.

And that brings him to John’s inevitable question: what now?

Alex doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how to undo the damage he’s selfishly done.

“I think…” John begins quietly, gaze traveling from the floor, up Alex’s diminutive form, before sliding back to the floor again. “I think it’d be best if you left. Went to stay with…whatever his name was.”

“Lafayette,” Alex replies automatically. “Wait, what? No, John. Come on. I’m not going to leave. I can sleep on the couch if you want, but I’m not going to leave you here alone.” Emotional wounds aside, the idea of leaving John alone of his first night home sets off all sorts of red flags and alarm bells. The thought of John alone in an essentially new place, disoriented, potentially nightmare-ridden – just no. Furthermore, the guilty party remained unidentified and unfound. That creep was still out there somewhere and maybe kidnappers coming back to finish off their victims was a thing of the movies, but Alex wasn’t taking that chance.

So: no. Just no.

“I think I’d rather be alone right now. I need to gather my thoughts. Between the doctors and the police and the everything, I haven’t had a minute to myself since I came home. I need a shower and, like, several days of sleep.”

“The detective said-”

“The detective said to take reasonable precautions. I will. I’ll lock the doors and windows, I won’t answer the door for anyone, I won’t take any two am strolls through the scary woods. I’ll be fine.”

Alex puts on his best no nonsense face and begins, “John. This isn’t a joke.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

John’s head snaps up and suddenly he’s out on his feet, making his two inches over Alex seem like several feet. His eyes are impossibly wide, not in outright anger, but in an absolute disbelief that suggests a storm on the horizon. Alex knows that look. It usually means he’s about to get his ass soundly handed to him.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? Are you kidding me with that shit? My life has been nothing but a horror film B-roll.” John takes a step forward, making the room feel that much smaller as it clouds with stormy emotions. He jabs a finger at Alex then at the door. “You need to leave. That is not a suggestion. You asked what I wanted? This is what I want and I expect you to fucking respect that.”

The dichotomy is so strong Alex wishes he could physically rip himself in two so that one half could do the smart thing and stay to make sure John’s safe while the other could honor his request and leave. Despite John’s earlier statements, this is a fragile time. Alex knows this and he knows this is not the time to challenge John’s decisions or to take away the first wisps of autonomy he’s had in months.

But every instinct, not just as a boyfriend, but as a human being, urges him to stay. The detective in charge had promised that patrol cars would be in the area, passing by every hour or so. But what about in between? What if the creep comes back and attacks and John bleeds out waiting for the car to come back by? How will they even know to stop and come in? And what about the mental demons? Nightmares or panic attacks.

No.

He stands there, letting his mouth scissor open and closed as John’s wrath builds before his eyes. Alex is close to tears, he can feel the heat building and spreading across his face. Each breath feels more difficult than the last as his chest tightens like an overstretched rubber band close to breaking. 

“ _Please don’t make me go.”_

John’s eyes close in the face of the agonized whisper. He’s hurting too. The knowledge only serves to redouble Alex’s pain because why, _why_ , can’t they just be here together? If it hurts them both for him to leave, why is John asking him to?

“I’m sorry,” John finally says, but it’s resigned, not apologetic. “But I need you to leave.”

The first tear, thick and fast, doesn’t fall down Alex’s cheek. Instead it glints back at Alex as it carves a path down John’s miserable face.

“Please go,” John repeats anyway, eyes still closed, looking seconds away from a break down.

What else is there to do?

“Okay.”

And Alex goes.

 -

It’s not that late in the day, barely scratching five, but with the dark grey clouds overhead it might as well be midnight as Alex jerks himself out of his own apartment building and onto the sidewalk below. The air is surprisingly crisp, whipping around his drained body like he’s nothing but a bug on the horizon. Go while you can, these grumpy clouds and their gusty friends say.

There’s not a lot of road traffic in the area, being so close to the university, which is essentially deserted for the summer. The unpopulated expanses of sidewalks and roads unfold before him like a labyrinth. He knows these roads, he does. He knows he could call Lafayette and the Frenchman would be here in ten minutes tops to pick him up. He knows there are usually a few cabs up around the corner, near some of the college bars. He knows his options. But knowing and doing are two different things so Alex instead stands frozen, mind too blank to even take a step. 

All he can think about is what’s behind him. What he’s walking away from. He knows he respected John’s wishes, but it still feels like abandonment. What sort of moron leaves a recently kidnapped person alone their first night home?

But he can’t go back. He can’t see that look on John’s face. He’s not ready to own up to his actions.

He takes a deep breath and lets the crisp evening air bite at the inside of his nose. No one said this would be easy, he reminds himself. In fact, no one said anything at all because this is uncharted territory; there’s no manual or step-by-step guide. It’s just Alex and John, doing the best they can.

Actually, it’s not just Alex and John, and there’s someone much better at all this emotional processing stuff right at his fingertips.

He doesn’t want to get into it over the phone, so he makes the short hike up a few streets until he can flag down a cab. The right is short and even though Alex decides to use the time to sort out what he’ll say, he’s barely strung together one sentence by the time he’s paying the driver.

The first spattering of rain drops just begins to fall as Alex makes his way to Lafayette’s door. He can hear the obnoxious doorbell as it rings inside. It rings equally hollow in his blank mind.

Lafayette stares at him in surprise when he opens the door.

“Alex? Did you lose your key?”

Oh, right. Alex can feel the little lump of his key ring in his back pocket. In fact, for several months now his key to Lafayette’s apartment – _their_ apartment – has gotten much more use than the key to his own apartment.

How did he forget that?

“No,” he mumbles, “Can I…?” He gestures vaguely at the hallway beyond Lafayette.

Lafayette blinks in confusion. “You don’t have to ask to come in, _mon cher_ , this is your place too.”

“Well, you weren’t moving,” he mutters defensively. “You’re still not moving?”

“ _Ouí, désolé, désolé.”_ Lafayette darts out of the way, seemingly as surprised by his own actions as Alex. “I wasn’t expecting…I was confused. My apologies?”

Lafayette is mercifully silent as Alex moves through the motions, kicking off his shoes and dropping his keys on the table. He drags himself over to the couch, where he falls backwards over the arm so his knees are propped up on it. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and lets his elbows point skyward.

“Alex?” Soft. Hesitant.

Just as unsure as Alex.

“I fucked up. I don’t know what to do. I need to think. I need a nap. I need twenty naps.”

“Would twenty consecutive naps not just be one very extended nap?”

He moves his hands just enough to let his eyes tell Lafayette exactly how he feels about arguing semantics presently.

“Apologies. Now, may I ask what happened?” He asks, settling himself on the couch above Alex’s head. He runs his fingers through Alex’s unfortunately greasy hair in a way that makes Alex want to purr.

“I lied. Or deflected, omitted, whatever. And John…John kicked me out.” He doesn’t expect his voice to hitch quite so dramatically upon his admission, but it does. His chest tightens and his eyes begin to well immediately.

In all their time together, John has never, never kicked him out.

But just one day into Alex’s new role as caretaker and he’s already screwed up so badly as to be banished.

“He kicked you out? Is that what he said?” It’s not said with incredulity, but curiosity. Normally Alex appreciates the way Lafayette seeks first to understand before giving advice. Right now, it feels like a nice sprinkling of salt on an open wound.

“I mean, he didn’t say ‘Alex, I am kicking you out’, but it was, you know, implied. He requested that I leave.”

“Because you lied? About me?”

The fact that Lafayette correctly surmises the source of his dishonesty makes him feel lower than low. He’s not surprised Alex would try to hide it, maybe he even suspected it.

“It’s not because…I’m not ashamed. I just don’t want him to think I forgot about him.” He still has his eyes hidden and addresses his admissions to his elbows and the ceiling above. It’s easier to speak in the dark where he can’t see Lafayette’s reactions. The band around his chest returns and it forces the words out on a shaky exhale. “I missed him so much, Laf. _So much_. And now I’m going to lose him.”

“That seems doubtful, _mon chou._ John – he just needs space. This is a lot. For everyone. He would not so easily walk away. Besides, you would not let him. And I would not let you let him.”

“You’re not making sense,” he accuses petulantly.

“Don’t be obtuse, Alexander,” he scolds, bopping Alex on the forehead with his finger. “You and John need each other more now than ever. I understand that you’re scared and upset-”

“Ashamed,” he corrects.

“But,” Lafayette continues, headless of Alex’s interruption, “you are letting these emotions get the better of you. You’re catastrophizing. But this won’t seem like such a big deal in a little while.”

“Doubtful,” he mutters, earning him another, more forceful, forehead bop.

“Stop that. I have let you indulge in more than your fair share of pity and wallowing these past few months. But John is back and the time for that is past. It’s time to put his needs first.”

“That’s the problem!” He lets his arms fall sideways so he can glare at Lafayette’s upside-down form. “What John needs is for me to be out of the picture.”

Lafayette stares at him as though he’s being particularly dense and it’s making Lafayette’s job that much more difficult. One well-sculpted, unimpressed eyebrow rises judgmentally.

“Do you really believe that, Alexander? Because frankly I’m surprised there was anything in this world powerful enough to separate you from John when he needs you so dearly.”

“Aren’t you listening?” His eyes are dry and itchy now, frustrated at Lafayette’s refusal to simply comfort him and let him wallow in his misery. “He doesn’t need me.”

“He’s never needed you more.”

Alex lets out a growl of irritation and shoves himself to his feet.

Enough of this.

Standing tall over Lafayette’s seated form – and when does Alex ever get to hover over the ridiculously tall weed of a man? – he glares and grits out, “Well, whether he needs me or not, he doesn’t _want_ me. So that’s that.”

What does it matter what John needs if he doesn’t want it? Who is Alex to force that on him?

Lafayette stares up at him, entirely unaffected by Alex’s newfound height. His eyes are dark and unmoving as they pin Alex from below.

“Sometimes we must do what we know is necessary, even if it’s unwanted.”

Alex’s glances somewhere to his left. “I…I can’t do that to him. Not after every semblance of control has been taken from him.”

He feels adrift in his ocean of indecision. Which way is land? Will he ever find stability under his feet again? It seems so far away, even as Lafayette rises and begins to gently massage his tense shoulders.

“Come back to me, Alexander,” he instructs, but Alex can’t quite tether himself to the conversation. What if John truly doesn’t want his help, not ever? What if this is the end?

Alex wants to repent, to drop to his knees and decry his actions.

But. That’s not what he wants. That’s what he wants to want.

He can’t make himself regret loving Lafayette. He can’t regret learning a new way of being with someone, a gentle and tender way. He can’t think of all those early morning kisses and late evening walks with anything but the fondest tones.

Where does that leave him? What does that make him? A bad person?

He’s become so fond of the island he’s found himself on, a new and exotic island that taught him that different ways of living weren’t wrong. They’re just different. But, oh, he can see the mainland, his home with its familiar ways and easy routines. It’s a little different than he remembers, warped by trauma and unspoken horrors, but it’s there if he’ll just dive in.

It’s agony to have Lafayette here, by his side, giving him the very comfort that Alex should be doling out to John. John, who’s alone and hurt and probably more than a little scared. His dilemma requires a physical decision, a decisive action. Which house will he go to? Where will he stay?

He needs a push, adrift as he is. But then, John gave him a push and he feels the wrongness of it so deeply in his bones that it threatens to topple him. Shouldn’t that tell him something? His body aches with the desire to split in two and let himself live out both possibilities. Maybe one will end happy and the other with heartbreak. Maybe both his halves will live out their lives with contentment.

How can he braid the three strands of their lives together when he only has two hands?

John deserves nothing but full devotion. He’ll need it. What if Alex can never fully commit? Will he always wonder if the other path was better? It’d be easier with Lafayette, certainly, but it’s so hard to deny himself the culmination of his deepest desires of the past few months.

Closing his eyes, Alex lets out a deep breath, letting his shoulders sag under Lafayette’s ministrations. To the darkness of the inside of his eyelids he admits, “What if he’s better off without me?”

Resting his chin on the top of Alex’s head in a way Lafayette knows makes Alex feel small and short, he clucks disapprovingly. “Who if not you?”

“I’m flying blind, Laf. Hell, one day in and I’m seconds away from a break down.”

“You’re telling me there’s someone out there who loves him more than you? Because I don’t believe that. Not for one second. I’ve watched you mourn for months and I’ve listened to you remember with only the fondest terms. He is a part of you and you him. Two sides of the same coin.”

“And what about you?” Alex asks wetly. He stares determinedly ahead, refusing to shake.

“Obviously, I am the flamboyantly colored coin purse that keeps the two of you from rolling away.”

“More like gaudy,” he adds, because he can.

“Alexander! I am never gaudy. I am never more nor less than utterly fabulous.” Lafayette drops his head to Alex’s shoulder and nuzzles into his neck as his arms wrap tightly around the smaller mans’ frame. “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t be happier there, where you could keep an eye on him.”

The protest is immediately on his lips. “He doesn’t want—”

“I’m not saying you need to sob your hearts out while fireworks explode in the night sky. I’m not even saying you need to speak. Just be there. I don’t care what John said. You would both be happier if you were there with him.”

Lafayette pushes back an even bigger wave than John and Alex follows this new current.

It’s truly raining by the time Lafayette drops him off at his – John’s? – apartment. He doesn’t rush though. Instead he lets the water scourge his mistakes and ugly words. They swirl behind him before disappearing down the drain.

He lets himself in with a gentle knock on the door, just in case.

He needn’t have bothered, though. He finds John curled up on the bed, covers still neatly made beneath him. A damp towel on the floor attests to a long, hot shower and the haphazard sprawl of John’s body attests to a bone deep, cover-overriding exhaustion.

As Alex fluffs an old blanket, a big soft one, over John’s still form, he recognizes the Jordy blue fabric and the arched white lettering.

Alex’s university sweatshirt.

Wanting and needing may not always be the same thing. But there’s also a distinction to be had between what we say we want and what we really want.

Under the second softest blanket they own, Alex curls up on the couch, which has seen more than it’s fair share of accidental naps and post-movie bedtimes.

Sleep comes easily, even though it’s only quarter to nine.

-

It takes him a moment in the darkness to locate what awoke him. It takes his disoriented mind several moments to even figure out what building he’s in. The clock is a blurry mess in the dark, but the lack of light behind the shades tells him it’s still very early.

“What?” he mumbles as he contorts until he’s belly-down on the couch like a mermaid on a rock. His heart skitters in his chest for a moment as his unadapted eyes begin to distinguish a form in the doorway. 

“You came back.”

Not a question. Maybe a little hint of surprise though.

How could he have doubted for even one second that this was exactly where he needed to be?

“Of course.”

John shifts from one foot to the other like a child unsure of their decision to awaken Dad.

“Is it alright if…I mean, will you…sleep in—in there? With me.”

The tight band around his chest finally eases off.

“ _Of course.”_

Being a slightly smaller big spoon allows him to bury his nose in the velvet-soft baby curls at the nape of John’s neck. His form is intentionally lose and unrestricting. If he gets shoved off in the middle of the night, than so be it. For now he lets his back separate them from the darkness beyond the doorway. In front of them the bathroom light is on and the door cracked a foot or so.

That’s okay too.

Always one to look a gifted horse in the mouth, Alex can’t help but ask, “How can you not hate me right now? I’m a horrible boyfriend. A horrible person.” He kisses the protrusion of John’s spine at the nape of his neck in apology for dipping his toes into the unspoken.

John sighs affectionately.

“You’re just a human, Alex. We’re all just humans, flying blind through all the shit life throws at us. That’s what being a human is.”

“I’m so sorry,” he can’t help but whisper anyway.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” John counters.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Another kiss to sear the sincerity in.

Shifting to stare up at the dark ceiling, John continues. “I’m sorry I got home late.”

Alex studies the outline of his darkened profile for a beat or two. He takes in the newly defined sharpness and lets his fingers rub over thin skin and bony road bumps.

Alex shrugs. “Better late than never.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love :) Thank you for all your wonderful support thus far!


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